How to Make Vietnamese Shrimp Rolls

For many years I have ignored Vietnamese food. I prefer its more vibrant and outgoing culinary cousin: Thai. (I was in college when the first Thai restaurants began to spring up around Los Angeles, and I immediately fell in love with the bold, pungent flavors of that Southeast Asian cuisine.) But these fresh spring rolls were a welcome reintroduction to Vietnamese cuisine. They were very, very good.

This was another one of those dishes I didn't want to be eating in full "cajole" mode with my family (example: "Come on, really, it's good! Just try a little bit!), so I figured I'd bring it into the office for lunch. (My colleagues, while discerning, are always hungry.) So I prepared it in the morning, but I cooked the shrimp the night before.

A quick scan of the ingredient list told me that aside from the hoisin-based dipping sauce (and I could eat hoisin sauce on twigs and leaves), the flavors were subtle, with each element contributing a unique flavor to the whole. The shrimp would have to be especially good.

Now, when shrimp will be eaten cold, I usually poach them in a sort of ersatz court boullion, with white wine or vermouth, a few peppercorns, maybe a shallot, and some parsley, but that was the wrong direction for this recipe. Luckily, I found an old BA recipe for cold shrimp salad that provided the spark of inspiration. That recipe has you poach the shrimp in a mixture of coconut milk and Thai red curry paste, but I adapted the court bouillion idea by omitting the curry in favor of fresh ginger, garlic, cilantro and—just for the hell of it—green peppercorns. I brought the ingredients to a simmer and tossed in the shrimp, covered the pan and removed it from the heat, then let it cool to room temperature.

The cooled, cooked shrimp had a wondrously evocative, tropical aroma as I transferred them to the refrigerator a little while later.By this time you know I'm the kind who laughs in the face of shortcuts (if not danger) when it comes to recipes, so the coleslaw mix called for was not going to do. I used Nappa cabbage, for its delicacy of flavor and thin, frilly leaves, and yellow carrots, in an inexpert julienne. I also julienned some small persian cucumbers to add to the rolls. Although the dipping sauce didn't have as strong a hoisin presence as I would have expected, it was delicious, and just the thing for the delicate cabbage/shrimp flavors.

I have never worked with rice paper wrappers before, but it only took one bad attempt to get the hang of softening them correctly (the secret seems to be to lift it from the water just before you imagine it's ready), but I can see that rolling spring rolls is one of those seemingly simple acts—like patting out tortillas by hand—that can take a lifetime to master. The first rolls were a little loose, but subsequent attempts to roll a tighter cylinder ruptured the delicate rice membrane and sent the filling spilling out onto the work surface. After a little trial and error I finally reached a workable compromise.

When I got to the office, I found my colleagues had supplemented my offering with a few appetizer dishes from the local Vietnamese mom and pop place in the neighborhood, Bo Nuong (forgive my lack of the proper diacritical marks), a fried beef dish, and Goi Du Du, shredded green papaya salad. I had brought plain white rice as well.

It was a memorable lunch. My amateur spring rolls held up just fine against the professionally prepared dishes, and no one could get enough of the dipping sauce—it disappeared quickly. There was dabbing of plates and licking of fingers. Not only would I make these again, but I can think of all sorts of other, wonderful ways to prepare them. My long exile from Vietnamese cooking has come to a happy end.